Across the Bifrost Bridge

We are sitting, a hundred or so people, in the falling dark, watching a boat burn. The sky is that deep indigo just before night. Lights from camps on the far side of the lake are beginning to glow. There is the rattle of a distant drum now and again in the distance. Sounds of far away laughter. The flames are a hard brightness against dark waters.

We sit in silence. Some weep softly. A few tell stories, pass a bottle of Tullimore Dew.

In memorializing a good man's untimely death we are reminded of life.

We touch. Hold hands. Reach out to each other knowing that none of us knows the hour that the ravens will come for us.

You out there at home... touch someone. Reach out to someone you love and tell them you love them. Life is too short to waste even a moment of it alone.

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